


I'm Me and You're You

by heisenfox (orphan_account)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Teen Wolf (TV), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Crack, Angst and Humor, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-31
Updated: 2014-07-31
Packaged: 2018-02-11 04:16:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2053233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/heisenfox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You’re. And they’re.” Stiles looks back and forth between Steve and the rest of the group. “And. You. I. Captain America. You’re actually. Is this…? Am I…? Holy shit. Someone hit me or pinch me, or no, hang on let me count your fingers.” He grabs Steve’s hands and starts counting; when he hits ten, he isn’t sure if he’s glad it’s not a dream, or if he’s ten seconds from pissing his pants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm Me and You're You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [haleboundride](https://archiveofourown.org/users/haleboundride/gifts).



> This is absolute cracky trashy goodness. I 1000% wrote it for my friends. However, if you happen to enjoy this chunk, there are two more parts to this story yet to come, so stay tuned!

The trip down the coast is Scott’s idea; he thinks they all need a break from the insanity that is Beacon Hills, and really, nobody’s arguing. Allison’s been resurrected for a few weeks now, and is more than happy to get out of town and away from confused looks. Meanwhile, Kira and her family have gone on vacation so she could learn more about being a kitsune without the hindrance of constantly fighting for her life, and Malia has decided to spend some time with her adoptive father rather than tag along on the trip. Peter is still going, which skeeves everyone out a little bit, but nobody argues after he flashes his eyes at them. Truth be told, they’d rather be able to keep an eye on him than anything else. So they pack into all the cars they’ve got; Chris and Allison are in Chris’s SUV with Lydia, and Peter, as well as most of the luggage; Scott is driving Melissa’s car with Isaac in the backseat, and Derek, Stiles, and the Sheriff pile into the jeep.

Nobody is sure of the destination, so they just fall in line behind Scott, pulling onto the 1, seemingly heading as far south as south goes. Their first stop is in Santa Barbara, just for the night, since everyone’s too tired to carry on. They find a cheap motel near State Street, and Derek and Scott run out to pick up dinner for everyone. As soon as the sun rises, they’re on the road again, this time with Derek leading, taking over driving duties in Stiles’s car. They continue on the 101 before pulling off onto the PCH, and before they know it, Allison is calling from their car, begging to stop by the beach. Derek agrees to stop in Venice, and the first thing they do is check into another hotel, this time paying for a few nights, as it’s clear this is the exact type of rest and relaxation they were chasing in the first place. After they unload the cars, everyone changes into swim-clothes, and they hop back into their cars, heading for Zuma beach, since it’s really the only one any of them know about.

Once there, they find a spot and lay out their blankets, everyone splintering off into little groups to apply sunscreen, build sandcastles, and run into the crashing waves. Scott, Allison, and Isaac are the first ones to run toward the water, and Allison squeaks when she realizes how cold it is. With matching mischievous grins, Isaac and Scott grab her and drag her in until she’s completely soaked. Lydia smiles primly from where she’s tanning next to Melissa, the crinkles at the corners of her eyes the only indicator that what she’s feeling is true joy at the sound of her best friend’s delighted screams. Stiles and his dad head toward the rec building to rent some volleyball equipment and a surfboard or two, since nobody really packed for the beach. Stiles recruits Peter and Derek to help him set up a volleyball court, and the Sheriff slips into a wetsuit and paddles out to catch some waves.

Their day is easier than any they’ve had recently, and even Stiles has managed to fully relax - something he hasn’t quite managed since their ritual sacrifice to save their parents. As the sun starts to set over the ocean, reflecting so strongly that you can’t quite tell where the earth stops and heaven starts, everyone is huddled side by side around a makeshift fire-pit in the sand. Allison is holding one of Lydia’s hands, and one of Scott’s, leaning back against Isaac’s chest; the Sheriff is sitting on one side of Melissa, Chris and Peter on the other, and Derek and Stiles are on the other side of Scott. Nobody really says anything, because more than anything, they’re appreciating the silence. As the sunset begins to wane, they pile back into their cars and head for the hotel, everyone immediately falling asleep after two long days of driving and more relaxation than any of them have had in years.

* * *

The next day, there’s apparently been some sort of vote among the kids, because it’s been decided that the next destination is the Santa Monica Pier. They start their day with breakfast on the way, stopping at Neptune’s Net in Malibu; it turns out to be the best plan ever, because for some reason Stiles is a hit with the biker crowd there, and they don’t pay a single penny for their meal. Oddly, Peter coughs up the tip for their waitress, leaving a hundred dollar bill on the table when he thinks nobody’s looking. Bellies full and bodies finally awake, they make short work of the drive to the pier, and once again, everyone splinters in different directions. Stiles is the only one brave enough to want to risk the rollercoaster immediately after breakfast, though, and whines profusely about it.

“Dad, come on, you’ve got an iron stomach! Just one go, please? Don’t make me be that loser kid that rides alone,” he begs.

The Sheriff laughs at him, shaking his head. “Not a chance, kiddo. Hey, maybe Peter will ride with --”

“Hell no!” Stiles all but shouts, backing away quickly with his hands up before dropping them angrily to his hips. “Fine, I’ll just go _alone_ since apparently Scott absolutely must win both Lydia and Allison stuffed animals first thing. Plus, we all know Derek is a chicken, and I don’t trust Isaac to not ruin this for me.” Stiles crosses his arms, marches toward the coaster, and tries to be angry, but, rather, finds that he would give anything for this to be the extent of his problems and arguments with his dad.

It turns out he’s not the only one who thinks riding a rollercoaster first thing in the morning is a fun thing to do, as there’s a group of five adults also waiting for the next turn. They’re all paired off, except for one guy, who complains that their sixth friend should ride with them too. He doesn’t mean to eavesdrop, he really doesn’t, but old habits and all that.

_“Tony, no, you know what could happen if Bruce panics on this thing.”_

_“That’s why I said we’d give him a few Xanax first, Steve!”_

_“You’re really suggesting giving him a drug without knowing the proper dosage for the Other Guy? You could seriously hurt him.”_

The redheaded woman with them chimes in as well, _“Tony, I’m with Steve. Look, I’ll ride with Bucky, you go with Clint, and Steve can go with this kid eavesdropping about three steps behind us.”_

Stiles jumps, looks at the ground and flushes red. “Hey, I didn’t mean to, I mean you guys talk pretty loud and it’s always kind of been my job to pay attention to --”

A heavy hand falls on his shoulder, and a stern voice addresses him. “Son, it’s all right. It’s not like you heard any sort of serious intel that we’d have to kill you over.”

Stiles hopes that last part is a joke, and whether out of shock, fear, curiosity, or some strange combination, he isn’t sure, but he looks up at the guy talking to him anyway. As he does so, his jaw drops, his eyes nearly pop out of their sockets, and he kind of forgets how to speak English. _“Omygahyercapinamerca.”_

“I’m sorry?” Steve says, a concerned look crossing his face.

“You’re. And they’re.” Stiles looks back and forth between Steve and the rest of the group. “And. You. I. Captain America. You’re actually. Is this…? Am I…? Holy shit. Someone hit me or pinch me, or no, hang on let me count your fingers.” He grabs Steve’s hands and starts counting; when he hits ten, he isn’t sure if he’s glad it’s not a dream, or if he’s ten seconds from pissing his pants.

Tony barks out a laugh, watching the entire exchange with unguarded amusement, while Clint and Bucky are kind enough to bite theirs back. Natasha rolls her eyes, and turns back to Tony. “See? The kid’s practically shitting himself at the opportunity. Everything is hunky-dory. Now quit your bitching, it’s nearly our turn.”

Stiles is still staring, open-mouthed at Steve, and his hand moves of its own accord once more, this time poking Steve in the chest a few times before just resting there, pressing firmly. “Holy fucking shit, you’re really him, aren’t you?”

Steve laughs, both out of embarrassment, and because the kid is a little kooky. “Yeah, I’m really him. Now are we gonna ride this rollercoaster, or are you just gonna stare at me all day? Because I get that enough from Sam -- don’t tell him I said that.”

Stiles shakes his head emphatically, eyes still wide. “I would never betray your trust, oh my god, I couldn’t, that’s like...that’s like betraying Scott and god, _no_.”

“Scott?” Steve asks, as he gestures for Stiles to climb into the seat first.

“Best friend since like, forever, but he’s more like my brother. We’ve been through a lot together, like way more than anyone our age should ever have to deal with.” He buckles himself in and glances at Steve as best he can out of the corner of his eye, trying to not be too obvious about it. But...if he’s being honest. Well. Captain America. You don’t _not_ look.

Steve is focusing intensely on figuring out the straps, and seems to be having trouble, so Stiles reaches over and does it for him, earning a bashful smile in return. “Thanks. And, I know what you mean. About your friend that is. Bucky and I, we go way back.”

“To before the war, right?” Stiles asks hesitantly, not sure if the old comic books his mom collected were as truthful as they boasted, large vibrant banners on each cover saying it was the most accurate of all the lines out there.

Steve nods. “We’ve been friends since sometime around 1930, I think. Time’s a little foggy these days, but that sounds about right. Bucky happened to be walking by while I was taking a beating from some guy at school, and jumped in on my behalf, even though back then, he wasn’t that much bigger than me yet. We’ve been best friends ever since.”

“Scott sticks up for me a lot too. He can do stuff I can’t, but I’ve saved him a few times, don’t get me wrong.” He laughs humorlessly, shaking his head. “Sometimes I think he’d crash and burn without me.”

Steve bumps Stiles’s shoulder in support, and nods. “I couldn’t save Bucky the first time, but I think maybe it’s better late than never. I never can be too sure, but I think he’s okay…”

Stiles doesn’t quite know what to say to that startling honesty, and avoiding boundaries isn’t exactly his strong suit, so he says what’s on the tip of his tongue anyway. “Well, I mean, considering all the Hydra shit that went down recently, I think he’s doing alright. You both seem to be.”

Steve stiffens for a moment, before the coaster starts ticking slowly up the first hill; he turns toward Stiles and grins. “I haven’t been on a rollercoaster since Coney Island with Bucky back before the war. This should be fun, considering I have a stronger stomach than he does now.”

As soon as the coaster dips over the first hill, conversation is impossible, and they’re content to just sit, half-laughing, half out of breath with exhilaration, watching the people walking around the pier zoom bye. Stiles waves at Scott when they fly overhead, and Scott waves back without missing a beat, though Steve seems somewhat baffled at how Scott could’ve possibly seen them given how fast they’re going. Steve can’t say anything yet though, because the air is still being knocked out of their lungs, and because he’s too focused on the carefree laughter he can see pulling at the sides of Bucky’s face in front of him.

They slow to a stop as they complete the journey round the pier, and Stiles is grinning harder than he did the time he actually got to play in a lacrosse game, which, he decides, is goddamn magical. He unbuckles himself and helps Steve maneuver the straps again, climbing out on his side of the car and extending a hand to Steve to help him from the car without tripping. They walk side-by-side down the exit, and Stiles grins when he realizes Scott is standing near the exit and probably hasn’t really paid any attention to the group exiting the ride.

“Wanna meet Scott?” he asks Steve, a small amount of hope coloring his voice.

“Sure,” Steve says. “But only if you actually introduce yourself to Bucky while we’re at it.”

“Dude, you’ve got a deal,” Stiles says, grabbing Steve’s wrist and dragging him toward his friend. “Scott! You totally missed out man, that was the sickest coaster I’ve been on in ages. Also, meet Steve Rogers aka Captain America, who I totally just rode with.”

Scott’s mouth falls open, as do Isaac’s and Allison’s, who’ve just strolled up behind him. Lydia, however, simply stops next to Scott and gives Steve a once-over. “You’re smaller than I imagined you’d be in person,” she states bluntly.

Steve jolts a little, and then laughs. “Ma’am, nobody’s called me small in years; I think I just felt well and truly like myself for the first time since defrosting. Thank you.”

Lydia smiles genuinely at him, and then looks about, noticing the rest of the superheroes milling over by the hotdog cart. A wry look crosses her face, one eyebrow slowly raises, and she folds her arms, drawing herself up to full height. “So, what is this, hero’s day out? You guys having some sort of birthday party for someone?” she asks, sarcasm coloring her tone, though not entirely unkindly.

“Sorry about her,” Stiles says, shooting her a look. “She doesn’t really see the hype in superheroes, but that’s probably because there hasn’t been a superhero with her power just yet.”

“Her power?” Steve asks.

Scott finally finds his voice, and extends his hand to Steve, derailing the question - probably on purpose, to protect his pack. “Scott McCall. Nice to meet you, Captain.”

Steve shakes Scott’s hand firmly. “Nice to meet you, Scott. Stiles says you two have been friends practically your whole lives?”

Scott beams at Stiles as he answers. “Yep. Brothers from another mother.”

Steve starts to tilt his head in confusion when Bucky suddenly appears at his side, and claps a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “You’ll have to forgive Steve. He’s _actually_ been asleep for as long as he was on ice. Meanwhile, yours truly had the pleasure of going through most of the decades, so slang is pretty easy for me. He’s probably trying to figure out if that means you two share a dad, which, Stevie, it does _not,_ and even if it did, you can’t just ask someone if they’re a bastard. Unless you’re in Westeros. Which, don’t even ask. Please. I don’t have the time right now, or the patience.”

Steve’s got a look on his face that mildly resembles Derek’s when he’s trying to figure out how to respond to something Lydia said without tearing her head off, and it makes Stiles throw his head back in laughter. As though they’re of one mind, Scott does the same, and one glance at each other is all they need to know they had the same thought. Bucky and Steve are watching in confusion tinged amusement, and Lydia is shaking her head. Chris, Peter, Derek, Melissa and the Sheriff have wandered over at this point, and are staring at Steve and Bucky with matching looks of shock on their faces.

“Leave it to Stiles to sniff out the superheroes and befriend them,” Isaac says in what Stiles is sure he meant to be a low tone, even though everyone hears him. Though, that may also be the point.

Wiping tears of laughter from his eyes, and brushing off Isaac’s remark, Stiles sticks his hand out to Bucky. “Stiles Stilinski. Nice to meet you, dude.”

Bucky shakes his hand, and nods. “Nice to meet you, eavesdropper. I could teach you to do that without getting caught, if you’re interested. Though, I can’t teach you to not get caught by Natasha. She’s friggin’ otherworldly with her senses sometimes.”

Stiles grins. “Hell yeah, man.”

The rest of the Avengers have ambled over as well, and are watching in amusement as Steve entertains the group of teenagers, eating their hot dogs like they’re watching a sporting event. Natasha is standing near Lydia, giving her a once-over as though she’s trying to riddle her out - not that anyone but Lydia has even noticed the scrutiny. There’s a reason Natasha is such a decorated spy, after all. Tony is near Derek, and seems to be trying to make himself seem more imposing despite being bested not only in height but in sheer body mass as well. Bruce has found his way over to Scott’s side, which Stiles can’t blame him for; Scott’s the most calm one of the group, considering they’re just a bunch of kids trying to handle shit even the adults struggle with. All the while Clint is eyeing Allison’s stuffed Cupid doll, as well as the very real silver arrowheads that dangle from her earrings, a look on his face like he can’t decide if he wants to snatch them and make them his children, or ask where she got them.

There are a few awkward beats of silence after Bucky, Steve and Stiles finish talking, and before long Stiles decides he can’t take it anymore. “So, everyone, you know the Avengers,” he says, gesturing about. “Well, maybe you don’t, Derek, you do like to live in solitude and depression. And we all know Isaac isn’t exactly what you’d call nurtured. That’s Tony but you might know him as Iron Man. Clint is Hawkeye, Natasha is the Black Widow - and let me tell you, definitely as lethal as her name suggests. Bruce is the Hulk, and obviously, the two that are actually talking to us are Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers. If you don’t know their hero identities I just can’t help you, honestly. There’s no hope for you.”

Once he finishes, he begins gesturing toward the pack and himself. “Avengers, I’m Stiles, and this is Derek, Lydia, Allison, Isaac, and Scott. The old people are my dad, Allison’s dad,” he points, “Derek’s uncle Peter,” points again, “and Scott’s mom.”

Natasha gives everyone a curt nod and lifts an eyebrow in Lydia’s general direction; Tony does some weird kiss-thumbs-up gesture that Stiles is almost certain he remembers seeing in one of the Iron Man press conferences, and Clint offers up a “Hiya,” and a small wave. Bruce, however, properly introduces himself to everyone, starting with Stiles and ending with Scott.

“It’s nice to meet you all,” he says quietly.

“So, what, are you guys like a group of models and buzzcut over here is your manager?” Tony asks derisively. “Oh, wait, no, models wouldn’t travel with mommies and daddies.”

“First off, fuck you,” Stiles says, little to no heat actually behind his words. “I could totally model too, do you not see these cheekbones? Secondly, no, we’re a pack.”

“A pack of what? Hooligans?”

Natasha turns to Tony, directing her withering eyebrow lift at him now. “Hooligans? And you call Steve a fossil?”

“Whatever, Tasha, you know what I mean.”

“Yeah, but _they_ might not. Being that they’re from _this_ century and all. Besides, other than tall, dark, and surly over there, they look less harmful than Beanie Babies.”

“Excuse me,” Lydia interjects. “I don’t appreciate either of your tones, and I’ll have you know that we actually _protect_ our town.”

“Protect it from what?” Bruce asks interestedly.

“This probably isn’t the safest place for this discussion,” Derek says aggressively. He gives Scott an apologetic look, realizing he just used his alpha voice, but shrugs his shoulders simultaneously, somewhat ruining the effect. “You know I’m right, Scott.”

Scott shrugs at Stiles, and Stiles sighs. “Yeah, yeah, safety in secrecy, I gotcha. Sorry, Avengers, but I do believe this is where we take our leave. It was super rad meeting you. Especially you, Cap. Honestly, this is probably the coolest thing that’s ever happened to me. But we really should get going. We’ve already said too much.”

Tony throws an arm out and stops Stiles. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, kid. Now you’ve got me interested. And the thing is, when I want to know something, I do. So, either you and your friends can come back to my house willingly, or I’ll unleash Natasha on you.”

They exchange some wary looks before Stiles finally gives. “Scott, they’re _superheroes._ What the hell are they gonna do when they find out? Take us out? Yeah, sure, but then BH is in their hands. Let’s just go wherever the heck he wants us to go. We can even bring our parents and Peter, if you’re that worried. But, like, _superheroes,_ dude. They have a moral obligation to _not_ kill us.”

* * *

Twenty minutes and two arguments about blindfolds later, they’re pulling up to a house that looks like it’s still being built. Their suspicions on this are confirmed when Tony half-heartedly apologizes for the state of the place, waving his hands around and saying, _“This is what happens when you invite a terrorist to attack you in your home. So. Don’t. Do that, that is.”_

They follow in silence as he leads them down several flights of stairs, into an elevator, and then down several more floors. Before Stiles has a chance to panic at the enclosed space, they’re in what appears to be a massive hangar, which seems to house not only Tony’s Iron Man Suit, but also Natasha and Clint’s weapons, Steve’s entire get-up, shield and all, and somebody’s sweet as hell motorcycle, each in their own alcoves. Tony leads them in, past all the things that Stiles wants to touch - and tries to, before his dad swats his hand away - and into a conference room at the very end of the hangar. Tony positions himself at the head of the table, and the Avengers fill in around him, leaving enough empty seats for just the kids. Stiles immediately sits himself next to Steve, and grins a little when Scott takes the seat opposite him, next to Bruce. Everyone else files in at their will, and when everyone is comfortable, Tony lifts his hands.

“So? What’s this big secret you couldn’t tell us out there?”

“Well…” Stiles starts. “It all started about two years ago when Scott and I went looking for a dead body in the woods. Derek’s sister’s body, actually, but we didn’t know that at the time.”

“Why would you go looking for a dead body?” Steve asks, looking as horrified as he sounds.

“Uh, my dad’s the Sheriff, man. I’ve been doing shit like this for as long as I’ve been able to sneak out my window. Which is no easy feat, being that it’s on the second floor and my hand-eye coordination is zilch. But that’s beside the point. Anyway, Scotty and I go looking for this body --”

‘Any chance there’s a short version here, kid, or do I need to order a pizza?” Clint interrupts.

Stiles glares at him before turning to Scott. “Just show them, man.”

Scott considers it for a moment before closing his eyes and opening them again, his irises now red. His eyebrows retract, his fangs come out, and his sideburns stand at attention. All of the Avengers have frozen where they sit, and Stiles shrugs. “Werewolves, man. What’re you gonna do?”

There’s a painful silence for several seconds as Scott returns his face to normal, and finally Bucky speaks, his tone incredulous. “Werewolves. Seriously? You want us to buy that shit? How do I know you’re not just a mutant, part of Magneto’s dumbass brotherhood? Or are you Xavier’s? Aw, hell, are you related to Logan? Did he send you to collect on that bet I owe him for?”

“I...where do I even start to answer that, man? Honestly.” Stiles shakes his head. “Werewolves, all of them. Well. Scott, Derek, Peter, and Isaac. Peter killed Derek’s sister Laura to become the Alpha. Then he bit Scott, which caused him to turn. Then Derek killed Peter, and he was the Alpha. He bit Isaac, and also Erica and Boyd, but we lost them. Peter implanted his consciousness in Lydia somehow, revealing her latent powers and forced her to do some ritual to resurrect him, and then a few months later Derek’s sister Cora came back to town, and was dying, so Derek gave up his status as alpha to save her. Scotty here turned out to be a True Alpha which means he didn’t kill anyone to ascend, just did it of his own free will and desire to have the power to protect everyone. That clear enough?” He glances around, smirking at the confusion on the face of each Avenger. “Oh, and Allison and her dad are werewolf hunters, and it turns out Lydia is a banshee.”

The silence somehow grows, becoming nearly palpable, and Tony keeps opening and closing his mouth like a goldfish, his teeth clicking every third close. It’s this that finally gets Natasha to speak. “Well, you’ve rendered Stark speechless, so for that, kid, I’ll grant you all your lives.”

There’s a beat before everyone realizes that was a joke, and she was never actually going to do them any damage given that they are in fact _kids_ , and the tension melts away as quickly as the laughter comes. “But, I have to ask,” she starts, turning to Lydia and raising her eyebrow yet again. “What exactly is your power? I’m assuming the wolves have heightened senses, probably speed, quick healing. What does a banshee do? Other than raising the dead, it seems.”

Lydia sits up perfectly straight and looks at Natasha dead on, her gaze hard. “I predict death, and, on occasion, I can confer with the dead. Sometimes they help me find answers, and sometimes I help them.”

More silence falls over the table, and Natasha seems to be considering her. “Sounds like a useful talent. We could use somebody like you around here, if you’re interested.”

Tony finally finds his voice at that. “Whoa, you can’t just make someone an Avenger, Natasha, you don’t have the clearance.”

“Oh? And what clearance is that, Stark? SHIELD is dismantled, remember? Nobody knows where to find Fury, or even how to contact him except me, and I guarantee you, if I told him what Lydia can do, he’d give the go-ahead.”

“Wait,” Scott interrupts. “Isn’t Nick Fury dead? Like, that was all over the news. Stiles freaked the fuck out when we heard, thought the world was gonna fall into Loki’s hands again.”

The door to the room opens, and Thor walks in as casually as an Asgardian is capable while wearing a large red cape and carrying a hammer that can weigh down even the Hulk. “Loki is neutralized, I assure you. Though, I do not know who you are, or what you’re doing here, Jarvis simply informed me I would find you all here in the room of conference. Are these the young mutants the Professor wanted us to meet? I did not know they would be arriving so soon.”

“No, Thor,” Steve says, standing and offering his seat. “These are some kids we met at the pier. They _do_ have certain...abilities. But it appears they’re not mutants. Just supernatural.”

“Supernatural? In what way?”

“Most of us in here are werewolves,” Scott explains, demonstrating again, along with Derek, Isaac, and Peter this time. “And Lydia,” he gestures toward her, “is a banshee and can predict death.”

“Ah! Werewolves survived the millennia then! I had always wondered, but with all that has happened in my time here on Midgard, I never did quite find the time to inquire.”

“Wait, what?” Clint asks, alarmed. “You knew werewolves were a thing? And, what, it just wasn’t important? I mean, fuck, what’s next? Unicorns? Vampires?”

Thor lets out a loud laugh, slapping his hand on the table. “Not at all, my feathered friend. But werewolves have been in this realm for as long as mankind. I had seen them many a time in my visits to Midgard, but not for some time now. I thought them extinct long ago. It gladdens me to see I was wrong.”

Derek is staring at Thor like he has a thousand questions, and Peter seems pleased about something that Stiles _really_ doesn’t want to find out about. “So...werewolves are old blood. Got it. Wait, does that mean the legend of King Lycaon is true?”

Thor turns to Stiles and grins. “Ah! So you do know! I assume you also know about the legend of La Bête du Gévaudan? Although, we knew him as Jacques when he took on his human form, which was quite rare.”

Allison and Lydia look up sharply, glancing at Chris before turning toward Thor. “Yes,” Allison provides softly. “We know his story…. My ancestors killed him.”

Chris chimes in before Thor has a chance to turn on Allison, adding quickly, “We come from a long line of werewolf hunters, but we don’t adhere to that anymore. Actually, that’s all on her,” he say proudly, nodding toward Allison. “Our code used to be _nous chassons ceux qui nous chassent._ We hunt those who hunt us. It was Allison who decided we would follow a new code. _Nous protégeons ceux qui ne peuvent pas se protéger eux même._ We protect those who cannot protect themselves. Whatever our ancestors did, we don’t do that anymore. We’re like you in a sense, I suppose. We fight for those who need our help.”

Thor seems to consider Chris’s words before turning and nodding at Allison. “You have a wise and fair mind for one so young. You would make a fine ruler someday.”

“Thor, don’t hit on the eighteen year old girl, you’re literally thousands of years old and from another planet, you can’t just whisk her off to rule Asgard,” Clint whines.

“Oh, what, and you want to hit on the teenager, Clinton Francis? Show her your little nest in the shooting range? Make her queen of the circus?” Tony taunts, a shit-eating grin on his face.

“Shut the fuck up, Stark, like you haven’t done worse,” Clint bites back, though his ears are tinged pink at the use of his middle name. 

Chris awkwardly clears his throat, as if to remind them that the eighteen year-old in question’s father is present, and they immediately fall silent. “Anyway,” he says, determined to change the subject, “I’m afraid none of these kids will be joining the Avengers any time soon. Most of them still have to graduate high school while helping to keep our town safe, they have no spare time to save the whole goddamn world too.”

Melissa and the Sheriff nod along with Chris’s words, both of them crossing their arms as if to seem more imposing. Stiles glances around at everyone and has a silent argument with his dad, whose face almost immediately falls into something weary, and Stiles turns, a grin slowly making its way onto his own face.

“We might not be able to join you yet,” he says, emphasizing the potential of future joinings, “but, we _can_ hang out with you guys for a few days since we’re on vacation anyway.”

Scott looks up hopefully at Melissa, who nods and says, “If the Sheriff is okay with it, sure.”

All of the kids let out excited whoops except for Derek, who looks extremely confused as to how their innocent pack-bonding outing turned into this, and Stiles reaches over and pats his shoulder. “Don’t worry, Derek, I’m sure at least one of these guys will have something in common with you.” He laughs at Derek’s look of indignation and then turns to Steve. “So, Captain, what say you take me for a spin on that bike of yours? Because, I gotta tell ya, it blows Scotty’s little motorbike out of the goddamn galaxy.”

Steve turns to the Sheriff, who shrugs as if to say he can’t stop his kid from doing something he wants, and turns back to Stiles, a grin on his face. “Well, I don’t see why not.” He stands, and offers a hand to Stiles, all but dragging him from the room. As the door shuts, Stiles can hear Natasha whispering conspiratorially to Lydia, _“Steve is **obsessed** with that bike. It’ll be a wonder if they ever come back.”_

* * *

As Steve and Stiles leave, Scott turns to Bruce, a tentative look on his face. “So, there’s some stuff I’d like to talk to you about, if that’s okay? Maybe we could go for a walk or something?”

Bruce smiles gently at Scott and nods. “Sure, though, I’m not very familiar with lycanthropy outside of popular culture. But I’ll help if I can.” They stand and excuse themselves from the table, Bruce pausing on the way out to assure Melissa they’ll only be gone a short while and finding himself mildly overwhelmed by her kindness when she assures him that there’s hardly a person on this planet she’d trust her son with more.

They make their way to the elevator, and Bruce holds up a hand when Scott makes to start the conversation. “If you don’t want all of them to know every detail of what we’re about to talk about, you’ll want to wait until we’re outside. I can ask Jarvis to not tell Tony anything, but every Avenger has a basic override that allows us access to all surveillance. Isn’t that right, Jarvis?” he asks, looking up at the ceiling.

“Quite right, Doctor Banner. You always have been one step ahead of Mr. Stark, if I might say so.”

Bruce and Scott share a grin, and Bruce leads them out of the house and down the back lawn toward the walkway Tony had paved along the cliffs. They follow the trail for a while before Bruce leads them down a side-path that, though deeply trodden, isn’t paved. They come to a jutting edge of the cliff face and Bruce sits in a spot that looks as worn as the makeshift path leading to it, gesturing for Scott to do the same beside him. Their legs hang freely over the edge, and the ocean air bites at their faces in a kind fashion, reminding them to enjoy the warmth of the sun on their skin and the ease of the day.

“So, what’s eating at you, Scott?” Bruce asks kindly, after a few minutes of companionable silence.

“I don’t want to overstep or say the wrong thing--”

“Ask me anything,” Bruce interjects. “If any of what I deal with can help you, then I don’t mind how personal it gets. I was lucky I was so grown when this happened to me. Not that I dealt with it all that well at first, but still. You’re not even out of high school, and your life is already dictated by another being sharing your skin.” He looks off toward the horizon, eyes going out of focus somewhere around the shoreline of the channel islands. “Nobody should have to know what this feels like. So, if I can help, I will. Just ask.”

I don’t really understand it. I mean, I get that it means the power was in me the whole time and all that, but...I never wanted to be a werewolf, let alone an alpha. There’s so much power and responsibility, and I’m barely going to be eighteen, and half the time I can’t even turn when I need to. So...how do you control it?”

Bruce sighs and drags a hand over his face. “A lot of patience.” He laughs humorlessly, and shakes his head. “I don’t know that I even _do_ control it. Most of the time, I feel like the Other Guy controls me. Like he decides when he comes out and when I get to stay me. He’s triggered by anger, mostly, and I’ll tell you what I once told Steve -- I’m always angry. I’m angry at myself for agreeing to do the research on the gamma radiation. I’m angry at Doctor Erskine, the original pioneer of the serum for not leaving the formula to anyone. I’m angry at the world for only seeing me as a monster, even though not all monsters do monstrous things. So, Scott, I’m sorry, but I don’t know the answer to that question, not quite yet.”

Scott turns his focus to his hands, which are folded in his lap, tugging at the hemline of his shirt, and Bruce feels a pang of guilt. “Look, I can tell you this though. I was a lot worse off when I tried to fight the Other Guy. I tried to deny what had happened to me, hell, I tried sticking a barrel in my mouth and pulling the trigger. No matter what I did, he reminded me he was still there. He spit out the bullets, and he came out when I tried my hardest to deny him. Finally, I just accepted that this was a part of me, for better or worse. I don’t have… _incidents_ anymore. If that’s controlling it, controlling him, then that’s how, Scott. You have to accept it. It sucks, it really, really does. It’s literal hell on earth sometimes, trust me. But you can’t change it, so maybe there’s no point denying it.”

They fall into silence again, and Bruce is acutely aware of the unsteady breaths coming from Scott. Not wanting to intrude, and unsure if it’s tears or just plain panic and fear, he reaches his hand over blindly and finds one of Scott’s, twisting their fingers together and gripping tightly. He’s pleased to realize he made the right decision when the pressure is returned, and continues watching the waves break below them. Finally, Scott’s breathing eases, and his grip relaxes, though their hands remain linked.

“I guess...I guess in a way, I knew that would be the only way to control this. I just never wanted this to be my life. It’s something I didn’t have a choice in, and I hate that, I really do. But if this had never happened to me, and all the bad shit had still gone down in Beacon Hills, I wouldn’t have been able to do a thing to help anyone.” He pauses, and reflects back on the insanity his life has been since being bitten. “I think I’d rather be able to help, and know I did my best, than wonder what it would be like if I was completely powerless.”

Bruce turns to him then, and smiles sadly. “That’s the burden we face, kid. And unfortunately our only option is to accept it, and carry it to the best of our abilities, or to turn our backs on the world and accept the guilt of not doing what we can.” He squeezes Scott’s hand again, shakes it a little. “You’re doing okay, Scott. You really are. I promise.”

* * *

Back inside the conference room, Clint has finally worked up the courage to talk to Allison, regardless of the fact that her father is standing on just the other side of the room, though luckily for him, Chris seems to be occupied by Thor’s barrage of questions and adulations regarding the Argent history of fighting and protecting. “So, the silver arrowheads on your earrings,” he starts, wheeling his chair toward hers. “They’re real, that much I can tell, but who’s the smith? And can I hold one? They look almost weightless.”

“They _feel_ weightless,” Allison says as she grins and unhooks the one hanging from her left ear, passing it to Clint. “Here, see for yourself. As for the smith, well…I made them myself. It’s a right of passage in our family, when you become an official hunter, you’re supposed to forge a silver bullet. But my weapon has always been the bow and variations thereof, so I decided to do arrowheads instead.”

Clint is turning the head over in his hands reverently, taking in every detail of the metal, running his finger along one sharp edge before pricking himself with it and grinning ferally at the drop of blood it calls forth. “Holy shit, you made these?” he asks, incredulous. Allison nods, beaming at him with unreserved pride, remembering how that particular arrowhead saved her friends just before she fell. “Well, fuck, you might have to teach me your methods, because these are unlike any I’ve held before. I don’t work in silver, since usually Tony can get his hands on adamantium for me and that shit can take down just about anything, but I think it’s more in the way you forged it than the actual metal.” His face lights up as he gets an idea, and he leans in close, keeping intense eye contact with her. “Do you mind if I test it’s aerodynamics on one of my arrows?”

“Not at all,” Allison agrees easily, her dimples deepening even as she fights the smug grin crossing her face. “But, if you do, you have to let me try your bow. I’ve only seen photos and videos of it here and there, but if it’s at all close to what model it looks like in those, it’s literally my dream to fire one.”

Clint grins and sticks his hand out to Allison to help her up. “You’ve got yourself a deal, gorgeous,” he says, pulling her up and adjusting his grip on her hand so he’s holding it more casually. If he notices the flush of her cheeks, he’s kind enough not to say. “Let me show you the range,” he says, leading her through the side exit of the conference room.

Lydia and Natasha immediately stand and follow, falling into step side-by-side, shaking their heads at their friends. Lydia turns to her companion, looping their arms together with ease, clearly unafraid of the other woman, despite everyone else’s habit of giving her a wide berth. “Let me guess - he’s always like this about his bows and arrows?”

Natasha grins wryly. “I would say you have no idea, but based on your friend’s reactions to everything he said, I’m guessing you actually do have an idea.”

“Oh, honey,” Lydia says fondly, patting Natasha’s arm where her hand rests. “We’re going to be _great_ together.”

* * *

Steve first takes Stiles to the sectioned off area of the garage where his suit was contained, and lets him sort of run wild, figuring there’s nothing he could do to hurt anything. He watches with a look of fond amusement on his face, and remembers Agent Coulson had reacted similarly to their first meeting; he forces down the pang of guilt that accompanies every time he thinks of the friend he hadn’t managed to save, and instead focuses on the pure joy lighting the face of the youth in front of him.

Stiles is running his hand reverently over Steve’s original suit, the actual one from World War II, fingers finding every tear and bullet graze, touching gently enough that Steve wonders if he actually even feels the fabric under his fingers. Just as quickly as he seems to fall in love with the suit, his attention has moved onto the first shield Steve ever used in battle; it’s battered and chipped, the rusted, jagged edges sticking out, the whole thing practically threatening to cut and give tetanus. Steve sees Stiles’s face light up, and he knows precisely what question is about to fall from his lips.

“Yes, you can pick it up, and yes, I will take a picture of you holding it,” he says, just as Stiles takes a breath and turns toward him.

“Super strength, super healing, super hot, and psychic? Can I keep you?” Stiles jokes as he flashes Steve a blinding grin, and tosses his phone toward him. “You do know how to operate an iPhone, right? Or do they just have you on a basic flip hoping that’s not too high tech?” he asks, his grin turning to something of a smirk, the sarcasm practically dripping from his words.

“Ha-ha-ha, make fun of the nonagenarian, very funny. I’ll have you know Jarvis gives me lessons on tech at night when nobody can make fun of me, thank you,” he says, easily opening the camera on the screen.

“Yeah, but, dude. You just told me, which means I can like, totally make fun of you for it.” Stiles stops talking and pulls a face for the first few photos, then deciding to do his best imposing Captain America face for a few more.

Steve finds he can’t even pretend to be upset at that, and focuses instead on snapping the pictures for Stiles, choking back laughter at the faces being pulled and struggling to keep his arm steady. After grabbing a few of each pose, he nods to Stiles and closes the camera on the phone, handing it back after Stiles has - very lovingly - placed the shield back on its pedestal. “These are actually amazing, oh my god,” Stiles says, texting them to Malia and Kira with the caption _Now do you wish you’d come with us?_

After stowing his phone back in his pocket, Stiles waves his hands erratically. “Well, I do believe you promised me a ride on that baby,” he proclaims, heading toward the bike.

“That I did,” Steve agrees, reaching around Stiles, to the left behind the old shield and grabbing the helmet he wore in battle during the war. “Here, I don’t actually wear a helmet when I ride, so I don’t have any to loan you, but this should do. It held up pretty well in the war, even jumping out of a plane over enemy territory. Should save your brains from being splattered across the pavement in case of emergency.”

Stiles’s face lights up yet again as he crams it on his head, and Steve decides ‘over-excited’ isn’t a bad look on the kid, who, generally speaking, tends to otherwise wear a look that suggests he’s seen way too much shit in his lifetime, and is weary down to his very bones. “Thanks, man. You’re gonna have to take pictures of me in this too, just so you know. But we’ll do that later. Right now, I want to feel how fast this girl can go.”

The grin on Steve’s face comes as easily as they do with Bucky these days, and he swings a leg over the bike, scooting forward enough so there’s room for Stiles to hop on behind him. As soon as they find a comfortable position - Stiles’s arms wrapped around Steve’s middle, chin resting on his shoulder - Steve revs the engine, and Jarvis swings up the garage door. They pull up a gentle hill under the house, and Steve immediately makes for the highway, opting to give Stiles the scenic route of the PCH. The salty air bites at them, but it’s laughter that flows freely from them, overpowering any other emotions.

He lets Stiles gently nudge him in certain directions, to take exits here and there, to turn down this street or that, and eventually they’ve looped back around and are in the middle of Venice again, barely moving at a gentle roll, content to cruise and watch the rollerbladers weave throughout traffic. Stiles gives a soft squeeze to Steve’s midsection, and Steve leans back into the touch ever-so-slightly. They continue through Venice in silence before Steve begins directing them back toward Tony’s house.

* * *

Bucky watches from his seat as everyone else stands and runs off in little groups to do this or that, and wonders to himself if he’ll ever stop feeling like he’s on the fringe of everything. He’d never tell Steve how he feels, because that would just lead to more looks of guilt on Steve’s face, and Bucky can’t handle a single second more of that; it wasn’t Steve’s fault he fell, and it certainly wasn’t Steve’s fault he’d been found by Zola’s men, let alone that he’d had a version of the serum put into him before Steve ever even saved him. Steve was the one good memory Bucky had left from his life before, and he was damn determined to keep him as a bright light in this life as well.

A quick glance around shows Bruce leaving with the ringleader of the little group, Steve’s gone with Stiles, Clint and Natasha seem to be occupying the two girls, Thor has the parents cornered, and Tony is prattling on about something or other to the kid with the oversized scarf. The oldest of the kids, however, is still sitting in his seat, looking around as casually as Bucky is, but seemingly avoiding eye-contact with everyone. It’s almost as if he’s afraid he’ll be noticed, which, naturally, piques Bucky’s interest - and is something he can sympathize with. He rolls his chair toward the guy and extends his non-metal hand. “I know I introduced myself earlier, but just in case you have short-term memory loss or something, hey. I’m James. But everyone calls me Bucky, so.”

Derek stares at Bucky like he’s unsure what to do, and for some reason, this only increases Bucky’s determination. He reaches out for Derek’s hand, and places it in his, squeezing gently and shaking it. “This is called a handshake. It’s a thing we humans do when we meet someone new,” he says slowly, trying and failing to keep his grin hidden.

Derek just glowers at this, and shakes Bucky’s hand nearly hard enough to break it. It likely would’ve done - if Bucky wasn’t a super-soldier, that is. “So. What’re you doing sitting over here alone in the corner?”

“Ten seconds ago, I could’ve asked you the same thing,” Derek grumbles.

“Fair enough. But I’m not the one refusing to shake a perfectly polite boy’s hand, now am I?”

Tony, never missing a beat - and not even bothering to turn his head - yells over, “You? Perfectly polite? Don’t make me laugh, Barnes.”

Bucky feigns indignation, and finally pulls something of a smile out of Derek. “There you go, it’s not so hard!” he says, causing Derek’s face to go back to angry in record time. “Aw, was it something I said? Don’t be like that, kid.”

When it becomes clear that his attempts at humor aren’t getting through to Derek, Bucky decides to try a different approach. “Look, we can either stay here and I can keep trying to get you to talk to me, _ooooooooooor_ I could show you the fucking insane gym situation we’ve got going on upstairs and you can take some of your clearly pent up rage out on a few punching bags. Your choice,” he adds, standing and turning toward the door.

The door has nearly shut behind him when Derek slips through, falling in step beside Bucky. Bucky bites back his smile, knowing it would only bring back Derek’s determination to be a stick in the mud and just leads him to the elevator. “Gym level, please, Jarvis.”

“As you wish, Sergeant.”

* * *

At some point, Peter sneaks away from the group unnoticed. He presumes he can thank Thor for that, since he’d been huddled near Chris, Melissa, and Stilinski, somehow included with the “mommies and daddies” instead of the pack, and Thor was currently overwhelming the trio. It wasn’t until Derek left with Bucky that Peter made his escape, figuring Isaac was too starstruck - or, perhaps, lust struck - by Tony Stark to notice his disappearance. He makes short work of the hallway to the elevator, and clambers aboard, quickly pressing the Close Doors button. When they were first on the elevator, broken into groups so each of them could be accompanied on their journey by an Avenger, he’d noticed that they didn’t stop on the very last floor.

Stark mentioned that his workshop was one floor below the conference room, and had the elevator go there, open up and give them a peek, before returning to the hangar. The gym was one floor above the hangar, and offices were one more above that, and any higher and you were reaching ground-level again, from where the actual living areas of the house were to be built. Which left Peter wondering what could _possibly_ warrant a level so low that it doesn’t have a secret exit to the surface, and why Stark wouldn’t include it on the grand tour, even with the button just sitting there in the open. Or rather, he wonders _who_ warranted such secrecy.

He pushes the button indicating he wishes to go to that floor, and is startled when the elevator speaks to him. “Sir, I’m afraid you’re attempting to access a locked floor that you do not have clearance to visit.”

Peter glances up at the ceiling, looking for anything that might resemble a camera, even resorting to his wolf eyes, hoping they’ll sense something he doesn’t. When his attempts yield nothing, he presses the button again.

“Sir, I am sorry, but you cannot access that floor without the biometrics of either Mr. Stark, Mr. Odinson, or Ms. Potts. Not even Director Fury has access,” the voice says, sounding all the more mechanical the more Peter listens, yet it still manages to drip with wry irritation.

Peter growls and flashes his eyes blue yet again. Before he has a chance to argue, the elevator doors open, and Chris is standing there with his arms crossed, Thor and Tony flanking his sides.

“Peter, did you know that these two get an alert every time someone unauthorized tries to access the bottom level more than once? Because I found out when they started panicking about thirty seconds ago. Ten seconds ago, I noticed you were gone from the room.” Chris pulls out his electric baton and extends it menacingly. “Please, give me a reason. Hell, maybe I don’t even need this since the big guy here literally has the ability to create lightning. Or, better yet, let’s just all hop up to the gym and tell Derek that you were trying to access secret information in the base of _superheroes_ who could literally _eviscerate_ all of us if they chose.”

Tony and Thor have both crossed their arms, and one of Tony’s hands is stroking the band on his wrist that calls the Iron Man suit to him. Not that it’d be needed, what with Thor threateningly swinging Mjölnir from the tip of his _pinky_. Peter holds up his hands in surrender, a smirk on his face as he gives the threesome a once-over. “All right, all right, you got me. I simply wondered what could be so important that it gets a floor all its own _and_ isn’t even mentioned in the grand tour we got upon arriving,” he says, slipping out of the elevator and heading back toward the conference room.

Isaac, Stilinski, and Melissa are watching from the doorway, each wearing a look of such intense disapproval that Tony reckons they could give Pepper a run for her money in that department, and he makes a mental note to never allow them to meet. He glances over at Thor, who has dropped his arms back to his sides casually, and nods at the unasked question. Thor enters the elevator and the doors close before anyone can take notice; Tony acts as though nothing has happened, and returns to the conference room as well, slipping his arm around Melissa’s shoulders and pulling her into the room with him.

“Now, how’s about you tell me all about your big, scary, ex-boyfriend over there, and why he’d be interested in our secrets?” he asks, smirking when Melissa flushes, confirming his suspicion. Peter growls from where he sits in the corner, and Chris closes the door, keeping his baton at the ready by his side, unsure of where the conversation is about to go.

* * *

Over in the shooting range, Allison and Clint have decided to see who can climb the wall leading to Clint’s “nest” faster. Having already spent nearly a whole hour taking turns firing his favorite bows and crossbows with her silver arrowheads, Allison regaling Clint with the story of the Oni and her death, and Clint telling Allison about the time in Budapest, they’d nearly run out of things to do when she caught sight of it in the corner.

“What’s that?” she asks, pointing the crossbow in her hand toward it, jokingly cocking it for fire.

“Hey, don’t you dare,” he says, putting his hand on her shoulder and easing her arm down. “That’s my…” He hesitates, and a blush darkens his cheeks. Allison drops the crossbow on the table at her side, and tilts her head, a blinding smile on her face as she waits for his answer. “It’s, uh, well…theguyscallitmynest.”

“Your what?” she asks, laughter spilling from her lips.

To the side and just barely out of earshot, but close enough that they can read their lips, Lydia and Natasha are sharing the only chair in the room, a large, plush recliner that Natasha usually occupies alone when she spends her afternoons watching Clint shoot. Lydia’s eyebrows scrunch together, and she purses her lips. “Did he just say--”

“His nest? Yeah. It’s just a nook up in the corner that he hangs out in.” Natasha turns her head toward Lydia’s dropping her voice so it won’t carry, knowing that Clint will still hear her, but at least he’ll have the right to share the story with the other girl himself. 

“Back when SHIELD was still a thing and we didn’t know we were working for the bad guys, Clint’s main job was aerial support. He’d scale buildings and be my eyes while I went in on the ground.” She pauses, and wiggles around on the chair, trying to free her numb leg. The fingers of her right hand are tracing small, delicate patterns across Lydia’s wrist absently as she speaks. “During the battle of New York, he was taken by Loki, and his mind was manipulated, undone. There’s a phrase for it in our line of work, and it’s never something you want to hear about your partner. I got the call while I was on a mission. Just a short, succinct phrase. _Barton’s compromised_. When something like that happens to you…sometimes he just needs to be above everything else to realize that he’s still himself. Be the eyes in the sky even when we don’t need him to be. It’s a coping thing. We mostly tease him out of love.”

By the time Natasha finishes telling Lydia the story, Allison and Clint have wandered over toward the wall directly under the nest, and Allison notes the various notches lining it, not unlike a rock wall. Within twenty seconds, she’s mapped out somewhere around seven different ways up, each one faster than the last, and she turns to Clint, a sly grin on her face. He frowns at her, unsure if she’s going to tease him about it, and what she says instead is the last thing he expects. 

“Race you to the top!”

She’s moving before he even has a moment to consider, and by the time he comes anywhere even near her ankles she’s giggling freely, pulling herself up into the alcove, exclaiming her victory. Her chest is heaving with laughter, her cheeks flush with adrenaline, and her eyes alight with absolute joy, and as Clint clambers over the edge he feels the air leave his body and thinks she’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. 

She’s made herself comfortable amongst the many pillows and cushions he’s got spread out up there, lying on her back with her hair fanned out around her face, one hand on her stomach, rising and falling with each rapid breath, the other tracing the low ceiling above her. There are marks on it, some of them unintelligible, some of them random letters, others are just scratches in the paint. On one side, there are maps of constellations, a trail leading from the North Star to Earth to where Allison supposes Asgard might be. Slowly, gently, she follows the paths, reads the marks, absorbs every inch. She can feel Clint at her side, lying a foot away, and resolutely avoiding looking at her. Her hand drops, and she wonders if she’s done something wrong.

Before she can ask, however, he speaks. “We didn’t let the media know a whole lot about the battle of New York,” he says quietly. “When Loki came through the portal, through the tesseract, I was there. Ground zero was a top secret SHIELD scientific facility. I was security for our top scientist, Dr. Erik Selvig, who is a personal friend of Thor. I tried to warn Director Fury that the tesseract was a type of door, and for every knock we made on our side, someone was knocking back on the other.”

He falls silent for a moment and pulls a hand through his hair. Allison sees the movement from the corner of her eye and blindly reaches for the other, entwining their fingers and putting a soft pressure in the grip. Clint takes a breath, returns the grip, and continues. “Loki came through before we had a chance to call for backup. We weren’t sure what to expect. I mean, Thor was a friendly, and he, too, was of Asgard. For all we knew, Loki was the same. Hell, Selvig even said they were brothers. But the next thing I knew, Loki had this scepter pressed to my chest and my mind just…went blank.”

He inches closer to Allison until their bodies are flush against each other, uses her heat and presence as an anchor to remind himself that she’s what’s real, not the memories. “The next thing I remembered was Natasha literally beating me back into myself. I’ve been in bad situations before, but never anything like that. And when I finally came to, she was the only one who got it. What it’s like to be in your head and not know who you are, to know your orders and only your orders. Then along comes ol’ one-arm, and it turns out he’s had it the worst of us all. Kinda puts it in perspective when you only spent a few days out of your own mind and he’s spent decades.”

Clint laughs hollowly before falling silent; the lack of his hushed voice seems to magnify around them until he lifts his free hand and traces over the markings, in the same pattern Allison was following just minutes prior. “Some of these I understand. They’re simple codes, patterns I’ve used before. Names, places, things. All of them revolve around the bad things I did under Loki’s corruption. Places I need to make amends. Others,” his hand veers toward the mindless scratches and chips. “Others are just anger. Frustration. Days when I can’t shoot worth a damn, when we have nothing to do, when we haven’t heard from Fury or Hill or anyone in weeks. I just snap and I need to feel something break under my fingers to remind me that I actually do feel it. That it’s real.”

Allison presses her whole side into Clint this time, as though she knows he’s using her as an anchor; perhaps she does, on some level, after all the time she spent trying to help anchor Scott. “What about the constellations?” she asks softly.

Clint turns to look at her this time, and she turns her head towards him, pleased to see that he’s smiling at her. “You know your stars,” he murmurs. “Those are to remind me that I’m still a sky man. That Loki can’t take away who I am, even if he changed it for a while. I do what I do and I’m damn good at it.”

Allison returns Clint’s smile, squeezes his hand again, and shifts forward slightly, pressing her lips gently against his in a chaste, fleeting kiss. She’s almost pulled all the way back before he returns the pressure, and when their faces come apart, both of their smiles have softened to something genuine and unspoken. Allison curls her body against Clint’s and tucks her head under his chin, letting go of his hand so his arm can snake around her shoulders. She lets her arm fall around his middle instead, and they lie there for ages - minutes, hours, or years, they can’t be sure. But for the both of them, it’s a much needed peace after a long while of fighting.

* * *

Scott and Bruce have been sitting on the cliff’s edge for almost an hour before they decide to wander around the property a bit more and head back in. Scott stands first, stretches his arms and holds his hand out to Bruce, though he’s a bit unsure if that’s a thing they’re still doing. He’s beyond relieved when Bruce takes it in his own and folds their fingers together again, allowing Scott to pull him to his feet. Bruce carefully guides them away from the cliff and they continue to walk along it, away from the house, but not so far that they can’t still see it clearly.

The first few minutes of walking are punctuated only by the sound of the ocean and the crunch of earth and gravel under their feet, each of them content in the silence rather than uncomfortable. After a few more, Bruce has started humming softly, as though he’s forgotten Scott can hear him, and Scott just grins at the ground, happy to listen and to witness Bruce so at ease. The humming stops, though, and Bruce starts talking.

“So, other than struggling with accepting your Other Guy, are there any other questions you’ve got? I’m not really a therapist, even though Tony seems to think so, but I could tell you a few war stories if that’s what you’re into.”

Scott looks at Bruce, laughs, and waves his free hand. “Not me, but Stiles would definitely be into asking you every single detail about the battle of New York. I guess, more than anything, I would just want to ask like, what do you do now? I mean, other than the superhero stuff. Like, you developed the gamma tech because you were trying to resurrect the super soldier program, right?” He looks to the ground sheepishly. “I mean, that’s what I read at least, in some like, science magazine years ago.”

Bruce smiles warmly, and nods. “I was hired to try and do precisely that, yes. I had developed a theory that perhaps gamma radiation could unlock the key. Since we hadn’t yet found Steve in the ice, we had very little left to work on, being that it had been decades since he was walking and talking in the world. Had we waited just a few years, maybe I wouldn’t be the Hulk.” He pauses and stares off, as if he’s contemplating a world where he wasn’t fighting against his every molecule every second of every day. “But, we didn’t wait. Orders said we _couldn’t_ wait. Nobody could’ve known the effects. I mean, I should be dead. Guess that’s the first time the Other Guy saved my life.”

“But…” Scott starts before biting his tongue. “But Steve’s alive now, he’s back. Couldn’t…isn’t there a way to derive the serum from his blood?”

“I suppose there might be, technically speaking,” Bruce muses. “But as you just said, Steve is _alive_. He’s a human being, and we have no right to subject him to the tests necessary. Moreover, there’s the question of ethics - does the world really need more super soldiers? And to cap it all - no pun intended - if the technology became available again, in this day and age, do we really want to risk it? Knowing that Hydra is running around under all our noses, wearing our badges, carrying our cards?”

Scott ponders for a moment, before shaking his head. “You’re right,” he says with an exhalation that’s half sigh, half laugh. “I mean, shit, that’s like, a million things I never would’ve even considered.”

Bruce laughs darkly and shakes his own head in response. “These are all things I’ve been saying from the very first day I began work on the super soldier revival. Minus the Hydra threat, of course. But I’ve argued the ethics on this project for years. It’s why I tested it on myself instead of anyone else. It doesn’t matter if someone’s signed off on it or agreed to be the test subject…not when even the people behind the glass have no idea what’s going to happen.”

Scott nods, his expression a little stony. “That’s kind of how I feel about being a werewolf. Derek says that anyone who becomes a werewolf by way of the bite is supposed to consent, is supposed to be _offered_ , but I didn’t get that choice. Peter was feral when he bit me, which isn’t the strongest of excuses given how he is on a daily basis, but still. I didn’t get to consent. I was just out fucking around with my best friend, we got separated to avoid both of us getting caught, and the next thing I know I’m a goddamn werewolf being hunted by my girlfriend’s dad and aunt.” 

Scott stops walking, and Bruce turns to face him after stuttering a step, not realizing they’ve paused. Scott’s looking out at the water now, resolutely avoiding Bruce’s eyes, and the anger on his face is evident in his scrunched eyebrows, if not in the flash of red that seems to glow in his irises; Bruce grabs Scott’s other hand, his grip hard and steadying. “There were others, you know. In Derek’s pack. It wasn’t just Isaac and me. Our…friend Jackson consented, and he turned into a freaking lizard killing machine before running away to London. And two of my classmates, Erica and Boyd…Derek gave them the option to consent too. They consented, they accepted the terms presented…and they’re dead.”

He’s gripping Bruce’s hands so fiercely now that the bones should be broken, and probably would be if not for the beast lurking beneath his skin; Scott can feel his fangs poking at his gums, threatening to come forth. “Being a werewolf is supposed to make you strong, make you healthy, make you powerful. Instead, it made us targets. We’re just kids, and we’re hunted daily, whether by the Argents and their kind or by _packs of alphas_ or fucking _demons,_ and we just _keep dying_. We didn’t know _how_ Peter came back for the longest time, didn’t understand the ritual, and we were too late for the others by the time we learned. We saved Allison…we couldn’t save Erica and Boyd. Derek gave them a choice, but they didn’t know the full consequences. Nobody knew what was going to happen, nobody knew it would get so bad. And they’re just _gone_.”

His eyes are more than just fleetingly red now; every bit of them is tinged crimson, even the rims. He’s blinking fast and hard, tears welling up as quickly as he forces them away; he forces himself to continue breathing deep, stuttered breaths, his chest heaving. Bruce drops his hold on Scott’s hands, and instead places each of his hands gently on the sides of Scott’s face, pulling his head toward his body, hugging him close. Scott’s own hands fist in Bruce’s shirt at the hemline, and they stand there for God knows how long. Eventually, Scott’s breathing evens out, and his grip loosens. 

Bruce’s hands are still gently cradling Scott’s head, and he pulls back just so, placing a warm, soft kiss on Scott’s forehead, once, twice, three times, before leaning back into the embrace. Scott sighs contentedly, if a bit shakily, and wraps his arms all the way around Bruce’s midsection, burying his face in the man’s neck, nuzzling quickly before settling. They stand that way for a long while before pulling apart, and walking back toward the house in silence.

* * *

Steve, having taken the long way round, finally pulls up to the house, acutely aware of Stiles’s warmth at his back, of the spread of his hands across his stomach, of the way their breathing has synced; he wonders if their heartbeats have done the same thing. He slows the bike to a casual roll on the driveway, weaves around the parked cars of Stiles’s friends, and pulls into the hidden ramp that leads to the hangar. Jarvis swings it open without Steve so much as uttering a word, and for that Steve is grateful, not wanting to puncture the peace of the moment. He can’t savor it for too long, though, because once he gets the bike parked back in its place and shuts off the engine, Stiles begins to squirm, eventually unlatching himself from Steve’s body, and gracelessly climbing off the bike.

Steve bites back a laugh at the sight of Stiles flailing to keep himself upright, but can’t keep the telltale dimples from showing, and he notices Stiles blush out of the corner of his eye. He climbs off the motorcycle with far more ease, and Stiles resists the urge to stick out his tongue in response. Once Steve has settled into standing in front of Stiles, he’s unsure what to do, and awkwardly sticks his hands in his pockets; he hasn’t felt this out of place since he climbed out of the machine Howard Stark made and operated to find he was built like a gosh darn tank engine.

Stiles seems to catch onto Steve’s discomfort and hops up on one of the tables off to the side after setting the helmet on the back of the bike, and once he’s seated, he pats the empty space next to him invitingly. A lopsided grin crosses Steve’s face, and he does as he’s told, sliding up with comparative ease. As soon as Steve sits, Stiles lifts his legs up so he can fold them under himself, turns to Steve, and starts talking.

“Okay, so next time, you definitely have to let me drive. Or teach me to drive it, I guess, since I have no idea how to ride a motorcycle. But I should definitely wear a helmet again and maybe some sort of armor, since I’ll probably crash a few times. And you should definitely not wear a helmet once I’ve got it down because that is a really good look on you,” he adds, gesturing to Steve’s hair, which is pointing about ten different directions.

The flush on Steve’s face deepens beyond a chilled pink to a full on blush, something he hasn’t quite felt since the time Peggy quoted his line about finding the right partner. “I’d be happy to teach you,” he mumbles, reaching up to smooth out his hair.

Stiles catches his hand before it makes its destination, and pulls it down. “No way, don’t you dare fix your hair, you look bad-friggin-ass right now. I mean, you’ve got that adrenaline buzz going on in your face, plus your hair totally screams either ‘I-just-had-intense-sex’ or ‘Hell-yeah-I’m-a-badass-motherfucker.’ Either way, you need to leave it. I’m pretty sure there’s not a single human being in this world that’s more attractive than you right now. Although, I don’t exactly know what Natasha looks like at this precise moment, so I could be a tiny bit wrong.”

There’s a brief moment where Steve’s brain seems to short-circuit at the words that just fell from Stiles’s mouth and before he has so much as a millisecond to question what he’s doing, he’s leaning forward and pressing his lips to Stiles’s soft-looking, incredibly pink ones. Stiles’s eyes widen in shock and just as Steve seems to be pulling back, he throws his hands up, one gripping the side of Steve’s face, the other wrapping around his neck, pulling him closer. Their lips slide and catch and their teeth knock in an adorably awkward way before they find their rhythm, and then Stiles is practically in Steve’s lap, their kisses still slightly off-kilter, but extremely enthusiastic.

Just as Stiles is about to try his luck with getting his tongue all the way in Steve’s mouth, Steve pulls his face away. Stiles hides the hurt and goes with confusion instead. “Wait, what, why are we stopping? That was ridiculously amazing, we should keep doing that.”

Steve sighs, and looks down at his hands, folding them together in his lap. “I shouldn’t have…I…” he trails off and sighs again. “I’m sorry, I overstepped.”

“Dude, you totally didn’t,” Stiles insists.

Steve laughs, or tries to, but it comes out broken, the sound faltering and seeming almost like a sob. “You’re just a kid. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Okay, number one, I’m just about eighteen. Number two, there are more fucked up things in my life than being attracted to someone who was technically born at the end of World War I.” He crosses his arms angrily and stares Steve down until he’s forced to look back up. “I was possessed by a _fucking demon_. For weeks. Nobody even realized until I’d started nearly killing everyone I loved. I literally killed Allison, Steve. Everyone else will argue that it was the demon, but you know what? I remember everything I did. I remember liking it. I remember feeling powerful and wanting to keep that feeling, no matter who I hurt, no matter that I was standing holding a katana in my best friend’s chest. So don’t you sit here and preach to me about how _this_ , how kissing you, how enjoying myself freely and without consequences that don’t end in death can be so bad.”

Steve flinches, realizing Stiles is right and he doesn’t know half the terrible things he’s gone through. “Aren’t you a little young for me?” he asks weakly, trying to figure out a different tactic.

“Isn’t everyone?” Stiles asks, raising his eyebrows.

Steve laughs at that as well, most of the tension leaving him, though a ghost of his guilt still remains. “I suppose you’re right. But still…”

“Stop talking yourself out of this,” Stiles says, reaching up and running his hand through Steve’s hair gently before cupping his face. “You kissed me, remember? And I’m not fighting you. It’s okay to want something, Steve. We _both_ want this. Just…let it happen.”

Steve closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly, and opens his eyes again when he’s done. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Stiles asks, his face breaking out in a brilliant grin. “Okay! Now where were we?”

* * *

By the time Scott and Bruce reenter the house and make their way down to the hangar, Stiles and Steve are cackling as Stiles tries on every costume shelved there; when they enter he’s having an argument with Jarvis about wanting to try on the Iron Man suit. Scott immediately breaks out in a grin and pulls Bruce over, not unlinking their hands despite the sudden company, and by the time they reach the duo, Bruce has apparently relaxed to the idea. Steve gives him a subtle wink when neither Scott nor Stiles are watching, and Bruce nods back. Stiles waves Scott to his side near the Captain America suits, having given up on Iron Man for now, and hands Scott Steve’s shield.

“Dude, feel that shit. Vibranium. How fucking light is that?”

Scott holds it gingerly, as though he’s afraid he can do any sort of damage to it, and he grins at the feel of it against his bare arm. “Holy crap, you aren’t kidding.” Eagerly, he waves it around, wielding it as though he’s fending off bad guys, a blinding smile on his face. “I can’t believe this does so much damage, it’s _so_ light.”

Steve laughs, and shrugs. “I have no idea either, Scott, but the second I picked it up, I knew it was the one. Howard had made somewhere around thirty different models of the shield after seeing my success with the crappy piece of tin I called my shield in the rescue of the 107th, and seemed to think this one was subpar, being that it didn’t have the bells and whistles his other versions did.” He smiles, his eyes unfocused, seeing something in his past that they don’t; with a fond shake of his head, he explains the memory he’s lost in. “Peggy - Agent Carter, one of the founders of SHIELD - was angry at me the day I chose this one,” he says, a trace of sadness coloring his otherwise cheerful demeanor. 

“Some dame was thanking me for my service, and had the gall to kiss me without my consent, and Peggy saw us. Peggy and I, we’d been dancing around something between us for a while, and boy, if that metaphor isn’t more accurate than you could know. Anyway, Howard calls me in to check out the new stuff he’s got for me, and among the piles was this hunk of metal. I picked it up, and in walks Peggy. Naturally, I try to smooth things over with ease and cheerfulness, and I asked her what she thought of it.”

He takes it from Scott’s hand and stares down at it, laughing quietly. “She grabbed a gun off a table and fired at me. Each bullet crumpled and hit the floor as I cowered behind the shield. _Yes, I think it works._ That’s what she said, after firing four bullets at me and watching as they clattered to the floor.” Scott, Stiles, and Bruce are laughing openly, and Steve joins them. “She sure was somethin’ else back then. Still is, even now.”

Just as they collect themselves and rein in their laughter, the elevator opens, and Derek and Bucky walk out wearing matching workout clothes with tiny little Stark Industries logos on them, each of them looking particularly sweaty and exhausted, though their eyes are alight with joy and adrenaline. They take in the scene before them with keen interest, Bucky giving Steve and Bruce very exaggerated winks, while Derek simply raises one eyebrow at Scott and Stiles. The pairs are each standing so close to each other, that they’ve become startlingly obvious in their new affections, but they’re all so blissfully at ease that they don’t care to hide it. Of course, that bliss lasts barely a second before Derek speaks.

“Are you guys headed into the conference room? Did Chris text you too?”

Scott tilts his head and pulls out his phone, realizing he’d put it on silent earlier and had forgotten about it. “Oh, shit, he did. Something about Peter? We’d better go check, make sure nobody’s tried to kill anyone else.”

Scott leads the way back into the room, and they find tensions running high. Melissa is sitting at the head of the table with her arms crossed angrily, staring up at Tony who is glaring down at her with as much heat. Peter is sitting a few chairs down, his feet up on the table, picking at his nails, which have in fact, elongated to claws, his eyes flickering between Tony and Thor. Chris, Isaac, and the Sheriff are standing at the opposite side of the room looking exasperated. Before Scott can ask what’s going on, the other door to the room opens, and Allison and Lydia enter, accompanied by Clint and Natasha.

Their smiles falter as they take in the scene, and within half a second, Natasha has slipped from her friendly demeanor into a look that is pure calculation and defense. Clint takes note of her change and follows suit, and they each assume positions on opposite sides of the room. Allison looks to Scott, who shrugs, and heads toward his mother.

“Mom, what’s going on?”

Tony answers, not looking away from Melissa. “Your guy Peter tried to break into a classified area of the house and we’re trying to figure out why.”

Scott turns to Peter, who smirks and shrugs. “ _Ooooookay_ , but that doesn’t explain why you’re harassing my mom,” he says slowly, stepping between the two of them and flashing his eyes as a warning. Tony takes a half step back and brings himself to full height, looking down at Scott with disdain.

“I wouldn’t recommend you threatening me in my own home, kid.”

“And I wouldn’t recommend you threatening my mom _ever_.” Scott folds his arms and glares around the room. “What did he try to break into that’s so important you thought it was okay to harass an innocent woman?”

“Uh, what part of _classified_ didn’t get through to you?”

Peter laughs coldly. “Oh, Mr. Stark, I know what you’re keeping down there. Or, should I say, _who_. It wasn’t a matter of discovering your secret, I was simply curious as to what he has to say about a few topics.”

“I’m sorry, _he_? What, is your top secret floor is a prison?” Lydia asks, stepping up beside Peter. Her hip is cocked to the right, one hand resting where it juts, her other hand on Peter’s shoulder. “If he’s interested, there’s only one person who could possibly be down there.”

When everyone looks at her in confusion, she rolls her eyes. “Were you guys not paying attention earlier? He perked right the hell up when Thor mentioned that lycanthropes have been around for millennia. Thor has a brother - or rather, a surrogate brother - who is better known as the God of Mischief and Trickery. Perhaps you remember him from the battle of New York? Loki?”

“Are you serious?” Stiles asks, mild alarm coloring his voice.

Steve gently grasps Stiles’s hand, giving it a squeeze. “We’ve got him under control.”

“Yeah, because that worked out so well before, right?” Stiles asks incredulously, pulling his hand from Steve’s. “I read the papers, Steve, I know you guys let Thor lock him up once before, on Asgard. Hell, I read the documents Natasha leaked online with the fall of SHIELD, I know everything you guys know! Why the hell would you bring him back? Surely it’s safer up there?”

“He’s not a danger, I assure you,” Thor rumbles from his corner. “The prison and the equipment holding him _are_ of Asgardian construction. There is no escape.”

“Yeah, but why not _leave him on Asgard_? As far as I, a mere mortal _citizen of Earth_ , am concerned, he’s your guys’ problem, not ours. What if he breaks out? What if someone lets him out? What if this is, I dunno, part of his plan?”

“You think I cannot contain my own brother, alongside whom I grew up? You think you know more of his misdeeds and trickery than I? I would not endanger the people of this world, Stiles Stilinski. It is my sworn duty as heir to the throne of Asgard to _protect it.”_

“None of this tells me why Peter wants to talk to him so badly,” Derek says quietly, lisping slightly around his elongated canines, his eyes shining an electric blue, staring pointedly at his uncle.

“And that’s what we’re trying to figure out. Perhaps you could help us,” Tony says, finally breaking his staring contest with the McCalls.

“I still don’t understand why you think my mom can help you,” Scott says with a tilt of his head. His eyes no longer reflect the alpha within, but his arms are crossed so tightly he looks poised to pull a muscle.

“I had Jarvis run a check on everyone here. For example, I know Derek over there has a history with bad women. I know blondie in the corner has no parents to speak of, the redhead is a certified genius - we’ll talk later, by the way - and I know that your mother here dated Peter, however briefly.” Tony smiles, his teeth baring in a shark-like manner. “Men reveal all sorts of interesting things when they’re courting a lady, kid. I’m willing to bet she has some piece of information, whether she knows it or not.”

Melissa has been silent the entire time, not once answering any of Tony’s questions, and finally, can’t hold her tongue anymore. “Okay, it was literally one date. And actually, if your computer is as good as you claim, he would know that it wasn’t _even_ one date. Stiles crashed his jeep into my car and interrupted us, and we never got a chance to reschedule due to, I dunno, the fact that Peter _died?_ ”

Scott bites back a laugh and Stiles is practically preening, while Peter is rolling his eyes.

“Fine,” Tony acquiesces. “But don’t ever call Jarvis a ‘computer’ again. You’ll hurt his feelings.”

 _“Thank you for the defense, sir,”_ Jarvis chimes in from above.

After a few beats of silence, Peter sighs dramatically and holds up his hands, retracting his claws. “Fine. I wanted to ask him about a particular legend about a very particular lycanthrope and a very particular set of circumstances.”

“Why can’t you just ask Thor?” Isaac and the Sheriff ask in unison.

“Because, I know for a fact that Loki is the only one with the answers I seek.”

“And how do you know that?” Thor asks, drawing himself to his impressive full height.

“I know my history,” Peter says simply. “And as far as any of the stories go, you never visited Helheim yourself.”

“What information of Helheim could you possibly seek? And to what end?”

“Well, that would be between me and your brother, wouldn’t it?”

“Okay, well, sorry, Peter, but you’re just going to have to spend the rest of your life wondering. Because a meeting between you and Loki? Alone? That’s not happening. Like, ever,” Stiles says. He looks toward Scott for backup, and when Scott shrugs half-heartedly, he turns to Derek instead. “Dude, tell Scott we can’t let Peter do this. He wants it too much.”

“I dunno, he told us his top secret plan pretty easily,” Scott points out.

“Yeah, but that’s like, part of his evil. He tricks you into thinking he’s cooperating, but he’s not really telling you the whole story. That way you trust him and he can pull the wool over your eyes. He’s the actual walking image of a _wolf in sheep’s clothing_! Does nobody else remember the time he drew the fucking spiral on that deer to lure Laura back to _kill her_ so he could be an alpha? Or how he used Laura’s death to lure Derek back to gain power and build his pack?” 

He gestures around the room wildly as he rambles this, looking around at everyone before finally settling on and turning toward Lydia. “What about the time he left Lydia to die on the lacrosse field, kidnapped me, and then used Lydia’s fragile psyche and supernatural prowess she didn’t even know she had to _come back to life_ for we don’t even know what!”

Nobody answers and Lydia has looked away toward Scott, so Stiles looks around and sees that everyone else is on Scott’s side as well, including Tony and Thor, and even his own father, though they seem to be skeptical about the whole thing. He sighs heavily, turning to Steve with a weary look on his face. Steve looks apologetic and shrugs at him. “Et tu, Steve? Fine. Just remember that I totally called it when Matt was evil, and I’m calling this now - something isn’t right. But whatever, you guys are the ones who’ll have to protect my tiny, breakable, human self when you realize you’ve fucked up royally _again_.”

Chris speaks up finally, before anyone else has the opportunity to weigh in. “While this is all well and good, I think we should probably get going back to the hotel for the night. It’s getting late and the kids still need to eat dinner. If Stilinski and Melissa don’t mind, we can just come back tomorrow and Peter can have his oh-so-important history lesson then.”

Tony nods his approval, and everyone murmurs assent, Allison struggling to stifle a yawn that then catches and passes among the teens. They each say their goodbyes to the Avengers they’d been spending time with, Tony gives a sincere apology to Melissa for grilling her, and they make their way back up to their cars, piling in and heading back to their hotel.

**Author's Note:**

> Again, not sorry if you hated it, not sorry about the crackiness of it, etc. If you're so inclined as to subscribe so you'll be alerted when the next piece goes up, please feel free to click that button. If your opinions absolutely must be heard, drop a comment, if you have suggestions or requests of any sort, also drop a comment. Kudos are keenly appreciated, as is all feedback in general. Thanks for enduring with me, and if you stick around for the rest of the story, thanks in advance! I will try to have the next piece up by the end of August! (15k chunks of fic are no joke, y'all.) In the meantime, you are more than welcome to bug me on [twitter](http://twitter.com/gipsyeureka) or [tumblr](http://stevestark.tumblr.com)!! [PS: I would like it to be known that Peter is absolutely, 100%, no doubt about it the Bad Guy of this fic. Along with Loki. There shall be no Nice!Peter here, no siree bob.]


End file.
